Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you had had an accident?” asked Lionel in a low tone.

  “Because it would not have been true,” answered Miss Scott, limping along beside him.

  “But you are lame,” objected Lionel.

  “Very!”

  “And you’ve got one shoulder higher than the other.”

  “It’s quite noticeable, isn’t it?”

  “And your figure and your complexion—”

  “Awful, aren’t they? I suppose I’m absolutely repulsive, am I not?”

  The girls were forging steadily ahead. “No, dear, you never could be that to me,” answered Lionel earnestly. “I’m very anxious about you, that’s all.”

  “There’s really no cause for anxiety, I assure you.”

  “But if you have not had an accident you must at least have been very ill?”

  “Oh, no,” answered Miss Scott in an indifferent tone; “only a little influenza since I saw you two months ago. I don’t call that an illness, you know.”

  “I’m not sure,” answered Lionel very gravely. “I’ve often heard that the influenza may have very serious consequences. I call being lame quite serious enough.”

  “I daresay it will get better,” said Miss Scott cheerfully. “I am quite sure that this kind of lameness can be cured. I’m sorry to have given you such an unpleasant impression.”

  “Painful would be a better word,” said Lionel. “I never had such a shock in my life as when you came into the breakfast-room this morning.”

  “Yes, I saw. I suppose I had not realised how changed I am.”

  “If you would only do your hair as you used to,” Lionel said, “it would be better. Why in the world have you taken to drawing it back in that way?”

  “Did you see your mother’s advertisement?” asked Miss Scott.

  “No. What had that to do with the way you do your hair?”

  Instead of answering, Miss Scott produced a small newspaper cutting, which she had carried inside her glove with the evident intention of showing it to him. He took it, read it, and slipped it into his pocket with a rather harsh little laugh. “That was ingenious,” he said; “but the idea that you, of all people, could ever fulfil such outrageous conditions!”

  “I’m perfectly satisfactory, you see. I fill the place very well, and Lady Jane is kindness itself.”

  “I suppose that hideous frock is also meant to enhance the effect?”

  “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed it does! Most decidedly! But I should have thought that what has happened to you would have been quite enough to satisfy my mother, without making it so much worse.”

  By this time they were up on the moor, which began not more than half a mile from the great house. As Lionel spoke the last words he looked sadly at Miss Scott’s blotched face; but it hurt him to see it, and he looked away at once, following his sisters’ movements with his eyes. At that very moment he saw them both stoop suddenly to pick up stones from the rough moorland road; having armed themselves, they dashed away like greyhounds from the leash, straight across the moor, in a direction which would soon take them out of sight in the hollow beyond. Miss Scott was watching them too, and showed signs of wishing to give chase at once, but Lionel stopped her.

  “They’ve probably seen a cat,” he said quietly. —

  Miss Scott, who knew nothing about moors, did not understand.

  “Cats kill the young birds,” Lionel explained. “The best thing we can do is to sit down and wait. It won’t hurt them to have a good run.”

  As Miss Scott sat down on a boulder by the roadside, he caught sight of the thick sole of her right shoe for the first time. He had often seen cripples wearing just such a shoe on one foot, and he started a little and drew his breath sharply between his teeth as one does at a painful sight.

  She understood, but was silent for a moment, though she instantly drew back her foot under the edge of her tweed skirt.

  “I was afraid it would make a dreadful difference to you,” she said, “and I suppose I should never have let you see me like this.” He made a quick movement. “No, dear,” she continued quietly, “I quite understand; but I couldn’t resist the temptation to be near you.”

  “Besides,” he answered, anxious to destroy the painful impression he must have made on her, “you had written that you meant to come, if only on trial. I thought it was a mad idea, but I found it just as impossible to resist as you did, and I should have been awfully disappointed if you had not come. Of course it would have been easier for me if I had known — or if you had not done all you could to make it worse.”

  She looked at him so steadily while he was speaking that he turned and met her eyes; they seemed to be laughing, though her face was grave.

  “I really couldn’t paint my cheek, could I?” she asked.

  “Oh, no! I did not mean that.”

  “But I have,” said Miss Scott with great gravity.

  “What do you mean?” asked Lionel in amazement.

  “I wash it off at night,” she answered. “It comes off quite easily.”

  “What?” Lionel almost sprang to his feet. “Do you mean to say—”

  “Yes,” answered Miss Scott, smiling. “I’ve made up for the part. It’s well done, isn’t it? You know I belonged to the dramatic club at the college, and they thought I was rather good at it. I always did the ugly housemaids with colds in their heads and red noses.”

  “Your nose too!”

  “Yes, my nose too. The paint comes off my face; and this comes off.” She stuck out the thick-soled shoe as she spoke. “And this comes off,” she added, laying her hand on her shoulder and laughing. “And my figure is just what it always was. Only my teeth and hair are real.”

  At first Lionel stared at her with some alarm, as if he thought she might be going out of her mind. But she only smiled and looked at him quite quietly; and, now that he knew the truth, he saw the familiar face that was dear to him as if it were not disfigured, and the sudden understanding wrought such a quick revulsion in his feeling and so greatly delighted his natural sense of humour, that he began to laugh silently, as he sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, for he had the grave disposition of a thoughtful scholar. But instead of subsiding, his mirth grew by quick degrees, his shoulders shook, and his face twisted till he felt as if his whole being were turning into one vast joke; then, quite suddenly, he stuck out his feet in front of him, leaned back, threw up his head, and broke into a peal of such ringing laughter as the silent moor had never heard before. And Ellen Scott, who had been dying to laugh for ten days, could not help joining him now, though in a much more musical and pretty fashion; so there the lovers sat on the boulder, side by side, laughing like a pair of lunatics.

  The air was bright and still, as it can be In the North of England when the winter is just over and the earth is beginning to wake again, and to dream of her returning loveliness, as a beautiful woman may who has long lain ill in a darkened room. The clear laughter of the two echoed far and wide, even down to the stream in the hollow, where the girls were poking sticks under the big stones at one end of the pool to drive the speckled trout out of their quiet lurking-places; and they were talking in low tones and plotting to hide some fishing-tackle out of sight near by, on the mere chance that they might before long get an hour’s fishing while Lionel would be talking to Miss Scott. But the instant they heard the far-off sound of mirth overhead, they ran up the slope again, and dropped to the ground just behind a long familiar bunch of gorse, whence they could watch the road unobserved. The manœuvre was executed with a skill that would have done credit to a head stalker.

  Lionel and Miss Scott were still laughing, but had reached the milder stage of mirth which is like the after-taste of very dry champagne. They were looking at each other, and it was quite evident to the experienced eyes that watched them through the gorse that they were holding hands, though the hands that were joined were not visible, but were held low d
own between them, pressing the boulder on which they sat.

  The two girls saw, understood, and rejoiced. They had firmly believed that never, under any conceivable circumstances, could any male being even think of holding Miss Scott’s hand; but the impossibility was an accomplished fact before their eyes, and as they could not have any reason for supposing that the two had ever met before, they both instantly concluded that it was a case of love at first sight. Then they looked at each other and they also laughed long and heartily, though not a sound disturbed the air. When the fit was over, they whispered together.

  “I think it’s going to be all right,” said Evelyn, keeping her eye on the couple.

  “I’m jolly glad,” whispered Gwendolen. “I thought we were in for it this time.”

  “The last ten days have been awful,” said Evelyn, “haven’t they?”

  “She’s a perfect demon,” replied the other. “I wish I knew some nice bad words for her, that it wouldn’t be wrong or low-down form to say!”

  “I’ve seen things in Shakespeare,” said Evelyn thoughtfully, “but I’m not quite sure what they mean.”

  “You can think them anyway,” suggested Gwendolen—” that’s better than nothing; and you’ll show them to me when we get home, and I can think them too. There can’t be anything wrong about that, can there?”

  “I don’t think so,” answered Evelyn; “and we’ll never ask anybody, so we can always think that the words are all right.”

  “Do you suppose he’ll kiss her?” asked Gwendolen.

  “Not to-day,” answered Evelyn, with the superior wisdom of an elder sister. “They never do the first day; and besides, he’s sitting on the side that has the blotch.”

  “Well, then,” said Gwendolen, who had a more practical mind, “if there’s not going to be anything more to see, and as we can’t hear what they are saying, let’s go back and tickle the trout!”

  Evelyn at once recognised that this was sound counsel, and with the unanimity which characterised all their actions, the two crept backwards till they were below the brow of the knoll, and then rose to their feet and trotted down to the pool again in great gladness of heart.

  “How long do you think you can keep it up?” Lionel asked at last. “It’s utterly amusing and delightful, but I think it is just a little dangerous for you.”

  “At the first sight of danger I shall disappear into space,” answered Miss Scott. “But I have a little plan of my own,” she added, “which I mean to carry out if I can.”

  “What is it?”

  “It will succeed better if I keep you in the dark,” she answered. “In the meantime give me some work to do for you in the evenings — copying or looking up things. That will account for your talking to me sometimes, don’t you see?”

  CHAPTER IV

  LIONEL HAD FIRST known Ellen Scott while she was still a student at the college and was at home during the vacation. It happened in this way. Old Herbert Scott was one of the many learned and industrious, but quite obscure men whose ceaseless industry under the direction of half a dozen distinguished personages makes the British Museum the greatest institution of its kind. He was not a scholar in the ordinary sense of the word, for he had no degree, and had never been at a University. The son of an English officer in the native Indian army, who had been killed at the siege of Kabul, he had obtained a post in the Customs of Bombay. Though he possessed little or no knowledge of the Classics at that time, he soon became known for his extraordinary proficiency in Mahratta and the kindred dialects. He was, in fact, a natural philologian, and soon advanced himself to the study of Sanskrit. His misfortune was that the subject interested him far more than any material advantage which he might have obtained by mastering it. There is plenty of lucrative employment in India for men who know Sanskrit and have a dozen modern dialects thoroughly well, and who can be trusted; but Herbert Scott cared for nothing but study, and at the age of thirty-two he was as inefficient in the performance of his professional duties as he was learned in the Vedas and the lore of the Brahmans; in fact, he was in danger of losing his means of livelihood, since the Customs were not included in the “covenanted” Indian Civil Service. Happily for him, he was discovered at this time by one of the lights of English learning, who instantly recognised in him the talents and qualities of one who would always be far more useful to others than to himself. He gladly accepted the honourable though modestly paid situation which was offered him in the British Museum — for the twenty-four-year rule had not been invented then; he returned to England, installed himself economically in the cheapest part of Kensington, and went to work.

  A good many years passed before Lionel Follitt made his acquaintance in the Museum, and became indebted to him for invaluable assistance. The extraordinary extent and variety of his learning attracted and interested the young man, who at first had him to dinner at a Club, and soon afterwards proposed to go and see him in Kensington on a Sunday. Mr. Scott seemed pleased. Lionel kept the appointment he had made, and was considerably surprised to find his learned friend in conversation with a pretty and charming young girl.

  “My daughter Ellen,” Herbert Scott had said, introducing his visitor.

  Ellen had made them tea, had seen that they had everything they wanted, and had then discreetly withdrawn, leaving them to the discussion of Sanskrit literature.

  The rest needs little explanation. The girl was vastly more to Lionel’s taste than any of those he met in his own set: she was modest without being shy, she was clever without ostentation, she could appreciate without flattering, and she could understand without being vain of her wits. Moreover, though she was not more than pretty so far as features went, she had a lovely complexion, nice brown eyes that sparkled when she was amused, soft wavy hair of no particular colour, and a figure which Lionel thought the most beautiful he had ever seen.

  After this first meeting his visits to the British Museum were more frequent, and though his own industry did not relax and his learning profited considerably by them, he often found time to go with Mr. Herbert Scott to Kensington after hours, and even to stay to tea and spend the evening with the father and daughter.

  The old Indian knew nothing of Lionel’s position in the world, beyond the fact that he was a quiet young gentleman who lived in the country with his parents, and he would have been a good deal surprised to learn that his studious friend was heir to a noble old estate in Yorkshire. It was soon apparent that the two young people liked each other very much, but Lionel inspired confidence, and the young girl had plenty of common sense; and if the young gentleman from the country took it into his head to marry the daughter of the penniless old student, so much the better. If anything happened to her father she would have to support herself, and as he could not hope to provide for her he had given her the best education that could be had in England. If she did not marry and was left alone in the world, she was at least fit for any employment that might offer.

  Herbert Scott had no great knowledge of human nature, but as months went by, and visits followed visits, he became convinced that there was an understanding between the two, and his hopes increased; yet it was not until Ellen informed him of her intention to accept the position of governess in Lionel’s family that her father ventured to ask her a direct question.

  “Yes,” she said, “I have promised to marry him if his people do not object to me. That will be the difficulty, especially with his mother, who wishes him to marry well. He has not spoken of me at home yet. My plan is to make his mother like me before she has any idea of the truth. Do you think there is anything wrong in that?”

  “No,” answered Herbert Scott, to whose Anglo-Indian mind anything appealed that had a touch of adventure in it. “But does he know everything? Have you told him?”

  “Yes, I have told him.”

  But when Mr. Scott had gone with Ellen to the station, she had been quite herself in appearance, and he would have been much surprised if he had seen her when she walked into Lady Jane’s
morning room. The disguise was a part of her little plan which she had not confided to him, any more than she had shown him the singularly uninviting advertisement she had answered. She had timed her journey so as to spend the night in York; she had arrived at the hotel in a long cloak and wearing a veil, and had gone to her room at once, and no one had been surprised at the appearance she presented when she came down for breakfast in the morning. As a matter of fact, she had got the idea of making the change in that way from the account of a celebrated robbery committed by a woman, which she had read in a newspaper.

  On the evening after Lionel’s memorable walk with Miss Scott, Anne Trevelyan asked him whether he had found the new governess a pleasant companion, whereat the Colonel smiled pleasantly, and Lady Jane and the others laughed; but Lionel was not in the least disturbed.

  “I was very much surprised when I saw her this morning,” he replied, truthful to the letter, if not in the spirit — for his amazement had been great. “I know her. She is the daughter of old Herbert Scott of the British Museum, who has helped me a great deal with my work. So I went to walk with her, and we renewed our acquaintance.”

  Every one seemed disappointed, for the chance of chaffing the least chaffable member of the family had seemed unique. But now everything was explained in the dullest possible manner.

  “Oh!” ejaculated Anne Trevelyan.

  “Fault!” cried the Colonel, who was fond of tennis.

  “Punctured!” observed Lady Jane, who motored.

  “Crab!” was Jocelyn’s observation, as he looked across the table at Miss Trevelyan, for he was the oarsman of the family.